


Acts of Charity

by allyoops



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Cheerful rapist, Class Differences, Class Issues, F/F, For the most part, Gentle rapist, Inexperienced Victim, Large Cock, Lavish Praise, Loss of Virginity, Many Liberties Are Taken, Rape as a charitable endeavour, Sheltered Victim, Victorian Attitudes, Victorian setting, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27853970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoops/pseuds/allyoops
Summary: There is usually no trouble with the orphans; they are very carefully examined before admission to the Home. But every now and then one will present a little later than usual, which creates problems with the licensing bureau.How fortunate for the Board of Directors that public-minded individuals like Miss Robinson are available to help.
Relationships: Big-dicked female alpha/Underage omega who doesn't realize she's in heat
Comments: 14
Kudos: 212
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	Acts of Charity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).



Mr. Hastings arrived on a Wednesday and threw the whole orphanage into a tizzy.

Mr. Hastings! On a Wednesday! When everybody knew that _Friday_ was his usual, and rarely if ever did he deviate from this custom. But even more exciting than the sight of Mr. Hastings alighting from his carriage was the discovery that Mr. Bland seemed to _expect_ him; had perhaps even _sent_ for him. Mr. Bland was in his office, waiting, and Mr. Hastings was shown in at once by the maid of all work the very moment that he arrived.

Word of this unprecedented happening flew round the dormitories, from the smallest girl to the eldest, and it took the matrons all their combined powers of threat and persuasion to quell the tumult of gossip that followed. Meanwhile, very remote and far removed from the humdrum chaos of daily operations in their orphanage, Mr. Hastings took a seat in the chair across from Mr. Bland.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve come.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Bland, pathetically grateful. “Thank you, Hastings, indeed. I hardly know what to do. Cool heads are called for, in such circumstances, but I am afraid I am a poor candidate for such.”

“We’ll soon set it right,” Mr. Hastings assured him. “Now, first of all, the girl.”

“Flora.”

“Flora, yes. I suppose there’s no question of her being . . . that kind?”

“Alas, not,” sighed Bland. “The nurse made quite sure. She is of the type. I cannot imagine how it happened. We don’t take that sort, and they’re supposed to be carefully checked, but apparently they missed her. She’s been here for years. It’s all very concerning.”

“Yes, hrmm, well,” said Mr. Hastings, consideringly. “I’ve been to a few lectures on the subject myself, and it seems they don’t always show up right away. Not as what they are. So you must have a late bloomer on your hands, Bland, and it only remains that we deal with her properly now we know she’s here.”

Mr. Bland sat unhappily in his shabby little office, behind his much-abused elderly desk, and tried to look as if he were prepared to suggest what could possibly be done. Mr. Hastings either missed the look, or mistrusted it altogether. He spoke on.

“Of course she cannot remain. We’re not licenced to shelter such individuals. She will need to be moved elsewhere. The Dales up north, I believe, is one institution that is equipped for such cases. An enquiry might be cabled to the Director there; I’ll see to that myself. But the great difficulty is, how to accomplish moving her there. We can hardly put her in an omnibus and send her along to the station; not in her state.” He paused, reflecting. “She is _quite_ far gone, I take it?”

“Oh, no, not yet,” Mr. Bland said hastily, eager to impart at least a fragment of good news. “That is to say, she is sensible and can answer questions and . . . and that sort of thing. But my wife says that you can mark a sort of fever in her, certainly, and she is more likely to let her thoughts wander than she is to attend. This is very unusual; Flora is one of our good girls, and in the ordinary way Mrs. Bland says she would even call her intelligent. At present, however, I am afraid she does not present as such.”

“Tchah,” sighed Mr. Hastings. “Poor child. A sad affliction, to be sure. How much longer do you think it will be before she debases herself completely?”

“The nurse is not an expert in this field, but she says we might have the grace of a day, maybe even two, before we would need to expect . . .” He trailed off, flushing a deep scarlet-purple at the impropriety of what he was about to suggest. “ _Visitors_.”

“Hound dogs,” said Mr. Hastings, perfectly unruffled. “Digging at the doorsill, howling at the lock. Rattling the windows in their casements, eh, Bland? Men acting after the manner of beasts. Frightening the little kiddies, alarming the matrons. No, we can’t have it. This is not that sort of place. Respectable establishment, endowed by some from the highest levels of society. Won’t do. Can’t have word of this reaching Lady C⸺ now, can we? No, the girl will need to be dealt with, and then we can send her on to a more suitable situation. Appropriate for her kind.” He sighed, reflecting on what _appropriate_ would mean in this case. “Licensed.”

“Licensed,” Mr. Bland echoed, nodding gratefully at Mr. Hastings’s ability to so succinctly divine the solution to his problem. Then, belatedly, he frowned.

“But what of . . . of treatment? How can we afford the sort of specialist we require? The nurse did tell me there are patent remedies, which can be obtained from eminent physicians for a price, but the orphanage budget would surely not extend to the cost of such medicine.”

“No, indeed it would not. Doubt we could even pay such a man his consulting fee. But there are other manners of treatment, you know. Folk remedies and herbs and country practitioners who understand how these cases can be managed. Their fees are usually much more reasonable, and I’m told they do the trick. I have it in mind that we might hire one of these practitioners to come here, prescribe whatever herbal concoction will get the girl in a fit state for public appearance, and then send her along to a more suitable institution after that.”

“Yes, why, yes,” said Mr. Bland, dazed and pleased to see his salvation so near to hand. “A capital idea, Hastings, indeed. It does sound just the thing to get the poor child out of danger, and, er, see her more happily situated going forward.”

“I will arrange it at once,” Mr. Hastings said grandly. “A person of discretion, that’s what is wanted. Some feeling soul, who will look after our little—erm—Flora, and bring her comfort and ease, and make her ready to go forward into her new and happy home, as soon as she’s safe to transport.”

Both men parted with warm congratulations and mutual relief, and Mr. Bland returned to the mundanities of his more regular, daily tasks with a much lighter spirit and gladdened countenance.

How right he had been, to consult Mr. Hastings! Really, the man was a godsend. How very fortunate they were to have an individual of such good sense as their Director. Mr. Bland was a new-made creature; a man at peace. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and an end to his troubles at last.

~*~

Mr. Hastings returned on Thursday when the orphans were still at breakfast. This was accidentally exactly the correct time for him to do so, for there was none save the maid of all work to note his arrival and he posed no risk of drawing the orphans from their porridge in a subsequent frenzy of excitement at having their established schedule so disrupted. If a schedule could be disrupted, the orphans felt, why then, Anything Might Happen! In the face of such an event they too often undertook to make it so.

But no such calamity was to befall the order and method of their days today. Instead Mr. Hastings was escorted, unobserved, to the office of Mr. Bland, although this time he was not escorted alone.

In his company today was a fine-looking woman, a creature evidently of some breeding and good taste in clothes. She wore a well-cut bustled walking costume of blue-grey stuff, edged with black fringe and embroidered with jet. The sobriety of her outfit was relieved by a demure standing collar of ruffled lace, which peeped out around her neck. A hat of just the correct size and style to be deemed smart, but not modish, was placed becomingly on an upswept tumble of dark blonde curls, and she regarded her surroundings with wide, grey-blue eyes and an aura of implacable calm.

The maid of all work was not a curious soul by nature, but she was excited to some interest by the personage of this lady. She dressed like one of their patronesses on visiting-days, but with rather less in the way of ornamentation. Even the umbrella she carried, out of respect to the vagaries of city meteorology, was a serviceable device of black oilcloth, its severity relieved only by some fanciful adornment of carving on the mahogany handle.

“Looked like a respectable woman, she did,” the maid of all work would later opine in the kitchens. “But also like she was born to be more, if you catch my meaning.”

“A lady,” the Cook would say knowingly. “A real one, not one as what’s married a factory worker and got above herself. You can always tell the type. They’re real quality, those ones, and would never for a moment dream of putting themselves forward or giving off airs, even when they’re more entitled to it than many as rides in a nice carriage or keeps a staff of an ‘undred!”

Unaware that her character was shortly to be so thoroughly dissected by so many, the lady smiled her thanks at the maid of all work as that person applied her knuckles to the door of Mr. Bland’s office, and opened it to announce them both.

“Mr. Hastings and Miss Robinson to see you, sir.”

“Yes, yes, please, come in,” Mr. Bland said quickly, lurching to his feet in greeting. “Please. Do. Come in.”

Miss Robinson preceded Mr. Hastings into the room and, after the preliminaries had been dispensed with, seated herself with calm purpose on the indicated chair and permitted Mr. Hastings to introduce her to their host.

“Irene Robinson, Bland. Recommended to me personally by the Director of the Dales Institution, after he received my cable yesterday. They said they would be glad to receive our little pupil, and gave their opinion there is none better than Miss Robinson to fit her for travel. She renders as a charity the, eh, manner of service that we discussed.”

“Indeed?” said Mr. Bland. “Why then, dear lady, you are more than usually welcome.”

Miss Robinson, arranged beautifully on her chair, thanked Mr. Bland for his hospitality and complimented him on the neatness and order of his establishment.

“I have been in several such, since I began to offer my charitable service,” she said, “and while always favourably impressed by the order and method of the routines and habits therein, I must say yours may be the cleanest and most modern of its kind that I have yet observed.”

Such sincere generosity of praise quite undid Mr. Bland, and made him very pink at the cheekbones and edges of his nose. Miss Robinson, he said, was too kind.

“Not at all,” declaimed the lady, softening her contradiction with a smile. “It’s so important for all children to be brought up with an understanding of order and industry, and I can see you are doing exactly that.”

Mr. Bland, unable to prove himself unworthy of such praise, was quick to present it with an alternate target.

“My wife is Head Mistress here, of course. She has three matrons under her command, and very fine and well-directed women they are. It is the hand of Mrs. Bland that you see in such niceties as the printed schedules, and the arrangement of the domestic work. Also any pretty manners our little ones here might be said to demonstrate are undoubtedly thanks to the tutelage of my wife.”

“Mrs. Bland has much to commend her,” declared Miss Robinson, still with that perfect and pleasant smile. Then she subsided into expectant silence, which vacancy Mr. Hastings saw for his own.

“Miss Robinson,” he said, quite needlessly at this point for Mr. Bland was already completely won over, “is discretion itself. I have told her of our little problem, and she says she has everything we need to set it right. This very day, in fact, she says the child may be got ready to make her journey to the north, and the, er, happier future that awaits her there.”

“Oh!” cried Mr. Bland, his appreciation for that lady now mounting to exalted heights, “oh, can it be?”

Miss Robinson inclined her head in calm assurance while Mr. Hastings spoke on, enumerating her qualifications: her experience at the Dales, her informal training in various respectable country hospitals, and a father who was of some note in the field of chemistry, or was it botany, or biology, dash it all, he really didn’t know.

“My father prepared herbal elixirs for individuals afflicted in the manner you describe,” said Miss Robinson, with her gentle, steady smile. Her voice was low and melodic, very pleasant to hear. “His methods were at the edge of scientific understanding for his time, though of course much progress has been made in the years subsequent to his study. He brewed medicinal tinctures using herbs and plants procured from foreign shores as well as grown here in our own blessed plot, the better to ascertain which combination of country remedies, handed down through generations, might be most efficacious in . . .” she here paused with exquisite delicacy before concluding, “reduction of symptoms.”

“Ah!” cried Mr. Bland, so overcome that tears of happiness filled his eyes. “It is exactly as we had hoped, Hastings, exactly! You have found her, our ministering angel. I thank you, dear lady, quite unreservedly, for your willingness to see us here and to come to the aid of our poor little Flora.”

Mr. Hastings, pleased to have his part in making the find so plainly acknowledged, added his own thanks, which Miss Robinson modestly declaimed.

“I have not helped her yet,” she reminded them, with a musical laugh, and both gentlemen saw that this was their cue.

“Er,” said Mr. Hastings. “Bland? Perhaps an introduction . . ?”

“Of course, of course,” said Mr. Bland, hastily scraping back his chair. “We will take you to the room directly, Miss Robinson, and then you must do for her all you can.”

“I assure you,” said Miss Robinson, looking earnestly from one man to the other, “I would not dream of doing any less.”

The room where Flora was kept was a single cell on the first storey, and not, Mr. Bland explained, at all far from his and Mrs. Bland’s own.

“It was deemed inadvisable that the child remain in the dormitory, given her condition, and so my wife had her removed to this chamber to convalesce. The nurse will keep watch in the night, but Mrs. Bland likes the girls to be near her when they are unwell, so she may be more immediately advised if medical attention is required.” He issued this explanation while leading the little party of visitors to a narrow door set in the corner, where he tapped lightly on its panels. “Rachel? My dear? Mr. Hastings has come back, and brought somebody to help.”

The door was at once opened by a tall, spare woman of severe countenance in practical dress. What might have been a more habitual expression of sternness had yielded to very palpable relief at the announcement of their arrival, and she even favoured Mr. Hastings with something like a smile.

“Wonderful,” she said, “simply wonderful. We are all quite beside ourselves here, aren’t we, Nurse?”

The uniformed woman who had half-blended into the painted plaster of the walls beyond stirred just enough to confirm, with a nod, that they were all most concerned.

“It’s impossible to imagine, you know, how they could have missed it, but . . .” Mrs. Bland broke off and turned to gesture to the slim figure resting on the cot. Neither sitting or reclining, but sprawled in a posture that was something in between, a girl in the dark orphanage uniform relieved by a starchy white pinafore had lifted her face to stare dreamily out the window, her hips shifting back and forth beneath the concealing layers of her dress as though she were swaying in time with music that only she could hear.

“Dear me,” said Mr. Hastings, who had not previously imagined the state to which a child in this condition could be reduced. “The poor girl.”

“Indeed,” said Miss Robinson, advancing into the room, “indeed.”

She approached the figure on the bed with a kind of gentle understanding, and put out her hand when she drew near.

“Flora?” she said. “My dear, can you hear me?”

Flora turned her head to trace the direction of the sound, giving as she did a better view of her face, which was heart shaped and possessed of well-formed features—large, hazel eyes, a delicate nose and a demure Cupid’s bow mouth—that made her look quite sweet. Even pretty, if it were allowed to be said of an orphan.

“Flora,” said Miss Robinson, “I am here to help. This feeling you have inside you will need to be brought under control. Do you understand?”

Flora stared vacantly a moment longer before she broke into a shy smile, which she chased with a little giggle.

“Oooh, good,” she sighed. “For I do feel most awf’ly strange.”

“I know,” soothed Miss Robinson, and settled into the chair before her, which must until recently have been the post of vigil for Mrs. Bland. “My poor dear girl, well do I know it. But I am quite able to fix all that, which is why these good people have brought me here.” She glanced over to favour Mr. Hastings and the Blands and the unobtrusive nurse with a warm and radiant smile. “They will give you over into my care for the next little while, and with some application of the methods I know, I think we will be able to help you feel more like yourself again. Would you like that?”

Flora did not seem to know if she would like it or not. She was still frowning, even pouting a little, as she wrestled with the enormity of this thought when Miss Robinson effected, by means of gentle explanation and firm direction, to banish all onlookers from the chamber.

“You would not prefer that Nurse remain?” wondered Mrs. Bland, but Miss Robinson, without in any way contriving to give offence, made it clear that she would not.

“It is not simply that some of the procedures may be indelicate,” she cautioned, “but rather that others I would call a patent secret. However, if I have any need of further aid you may be assured I will not hesitate to call.”

So with very little in the way of visible misgiving, the orphanage Director, Head Mistress, Head Master and nurse all filed out, and closed the door firmly behind them. Then Flora and Miss Robinson were left alone in the room, and the real work can be said to have begun.

~*~

Flora floated. Drifted, light and lovely as a cloud, a rainbow, a little leaf spiraling down from a tree high above. She had for hours watched the sky beyond her little window with a dreamy, remote pleasure, enlivened only by the prickle of heat she knew, vaguely, was running all up and down her limbs. Of course, Flora was not supposed to discuss her limbs now that she was of an age with many of the older girls, and soon expected to go into domestic service. One was not permitted to discuss their limbs, Flora gathered, if one worked in domestic service. And Flora did not imagine there was anything else she could do than that, so she tried to ignore the prickling in her limbs, and considered it practice for the future.

But then the lady came into the room, with her wide blue eyes and her beautiful pleasant smile, and the people who had brought Flora here when her limbs began to prickle said this lady was called Miss Robinson. At the sight of Miss Robinson, at the advent of her nearness, the prickling in her limbs got very much worse. The fog in Flora’s head got worse, too, and the only part of it in which any object appeared clear and necessary was the part that framed the lady.

Miss Robinson, sitting on the chair vacated by Mrs. Bland, watched Flora with gentle consideration for some brief space of time before she spoke.

“Is Flora what they call you, child?”

Flora considered the question as though it were weightiest trigonometry.

“Florry,” she supplied at last. “The girls in my room call me Florry.”

“What a charming sobriquet,” said her visitor. “Would you like me to call you that, too?”

Flora discovered she did not much care, and indicated this with an awkward flop of her shoulders. She did feel so very strange.

“Flora,” said Miss Robinson, still gentle and calm, evincing all the implacability of a hospital nurse and the manner of someone far less officious, “I have a tincture here in my bag which I will give you to drink. It is a medicine for girls like you. You must drink it all and keep it down. It will not taste very pleasant, but it will not harm you, and most importantly it will begin the process of _reduction_. Drinking this medicine is a necessary step to take before we can take the next. I promise you, though,” her hand came to rest with slight camaraderie on the approximate location of Flora’s knee beneath her bunched-up pinny and rumpled skirts, “you will find the second step far more enjoyable than the first.”

Flora knew you had to take medicine when it was given to you, so she nodded obligingly and watched Miss Robinson open her black chatelaine bag to draw from its depths a diminutive bottle made of brown glass. From this bottle into Flora’s water glass she poured a very dainty splash of cloudy liquid, which she handed to Flora, who drank.

The girl’s face crumpled dreadfully at the bitterness, and she did, as Miss Robinson had implied she would, feel her gorge rise in rebellion. But she fought it back bravely, because to do otherwise would be disobedient, and there was something about Miss Robinson which made even Flora, already known as one of the institution’s good girls, feel more than usually inclined to obey.

“It’s foul, isn’t it?” said Miss Robinson in true sympathy, watching Flora struggle with the taste. “I know it well. My father would administer a similar draught to me even in my very young girlhood, ever since he detected in my person the warning signs of . . . well. We need not go into all that. My family history is likely quite uninteresting to such a bright and pretty little girl. Perhaps, while we give the tincture time to work, we might talk of other things. What are your interests, Flora? Have you have any hobbies? Favourite games?”

Flora at first could not even remember the nature of a hobby, much less work out an answer to the question of what her hobby might be. But as minutes passed and Miss Robinson drew her out with skilful, gentle queries, Flora remembered that she did needlework, and nicely, too, and she sometimes played the upright piano in the corner of the school room when her classmates were led each morning in song.

“These are worthy accomplishments, Flora,” Miss Robinson said warmly. “I am so glad to hear of them. Do you know there are children born into positions far more privileged than your own who scorn the diligence required in these pursuits? I am happy to hear you are not like that. It speaks well to your work ethic, and your willingness to make an effort in matters of industry.”

Flora glowed warm and rosy under the weight of such praise. She liked hearing Miss Robinson say nice things about her. She wondered what she might do to make her say more. Miss Robinson, fortunately, created a very handy opening.

“Flora, this feeling inside you. Is it very much worse today than it was the day before?”

“Oh, yes,” Flora nodded. “Ever so. I have a terrible warmth all through me.”

“How dreadful,” said Miss Robinson. “What makes it so difficult to bear?”

“Why, the greatness of it. At least, I think it must be terrible, for it’s so very great.”

“It causes you no pain, though? No agony in your flesh?”

“No, Miss. Nothing of the sort. In truth at times it is almost pleasant, but they tell me I am unwell and so you see, if I can think I feel well when I am not, I know I must be in a bad way indeed.”

“That is very soundly reasoned, Flora,” said Miss Robinson. Flora noted, with a kind of vague surprise, that Miss Robinson had left her chair to sit beside her on the bed. She could not remember having seen her do so; only marked the change after the fact when Miss Robinson put a gentle hand on her knee. “I can see you have a capable intellect. That bodes well for your ability to understand what I will explain to you next.”

Again Flora flushed at the warmth of Miss Robinson’s praise. Only fancy, that such a kind and fair lady would find so much to remark on favourably in her! Flora consequently attempted to arrange her features in an expression of teachability, and from the answering smile on the face of Miss Robinson, she knew she had communicated her intent.

“The source of the fever that has come on you is truly not an illness, Flora, or any sickness at all, but rather the manifestation of your nature.” A light, friendly hand sketched around the edges of Flora’s face, tidying tendrils of hair and gently neatening her appearance, just as a nursemaid or housemother would. “You are fashioned in a very special and particular way, and it falls to those of us with understanding of your condition to help you manage it. You may not entirely enjoy the actions of the lesson, but by the end of it you will feel much better, and if you are a good and obliging girl who responds well to instruction, as I feel quite sure in my conviction that you must be, you will find that it is so much more besides.”

Flora grasped that she was to take this very seriously, and nodded solemnly to show she understood.

“Yes, Miss,” she said. “That is, Ma’am. Miss Robinson.” She nodded each time she tried a name, to show just how earnest she was in her pursuit of this worthy goal. “I will do my best.”

“There’s a lovely girl,” Miss Robinson approved, and then, to Flora’s great surprise and not-inconsiderable pleasure, she leaned in and kissed her! Right on the lips, with her own lips, so warm and soft and full. Flora gasped, shocked, pleased, and stared at Miss Robinson in wonder as they drew apart.

“What . . . what was that for, Miss?”

“I like to kiss a pretty girl,” Miss Robinson said simply, as if there could be no further explanation warranted than that. “Did you dislike it?”

“No-oo,” Flora said, thoughtfully. “I did not.”

“Well then, that’s quite all right, isn’t it? Now, Flora, for medical reasons I will need you to part your drawers. Can you do that? I will have to see inside.” Miss Robinson discreetly lowered her voice as she said the word _inside_ so Flora blushed, all too comprehending and correspondingly embarrassed, but nevertheless did as she was told. Miss Robinson was a medical person of some kind, after all; she had been brought here by Mr. Bland, had she not, and by the very Director himself. So it must be well, whatever she wanted, and Flora would do well to cooperate.

Shyly, with hands that would have trembled had she moved them any faster than she did, Flora raised the dark grogram fabric of her skirt and the linsey-woolsey petticoat beneath it, bunching them up together in her fists. This left only the centre seam of her drawers to draw apart, and Miss Robinson kindly leaned forward to effect this service.

“Thank you, Miss,” said Flora, whose hands were full. Miss Robinson spared a kindly smile for Flora and petted her stockinged leg with visible affection.

“You have such pretty manners, Flora. I do so enjoy nice manners in my girls. Now lean back a little, if you please, and let me have a better look.”

Flora did as she was told, leaning back on her elbows, her skirt and petticoat still firmly in hand, lifting them above the level of her waistline and giving Miss Robinson full and exclusive access to the open seam running from the front to the back of the waistband of her drawers.

Miss Robinson’s gloves were divinely soft. Kid leather, Flora supposed. She had heard from the other girls that fine kid leather gloves were what great ladies wore. Not that it truly mattered, but it was some form of distraction from the gentle intrusion _down there_. Shortly it seemed the gloves were removed, and naked fingers took their place. The intrusion deepened, and Flora whined softly, but did not actually effect a protest. Miss Robinson was very gentle in her exam, and truth be told, after a few moments’ adjustment Flora did not even dislike the sensation anymore. Perhaps that was what came of being inspected by a professional.

For a time, in perfect silence, Miss Robinson examined her, but then she rose up, smiling warmly, and Flora saw she was in the act of unpinning her hat.

“I think we are ready to proceed,” she said, and set the hat behind her on the chair. Flora stared, fascinated, at the demure little riot of sandy curls arranged so charmingly on the foremost part of the lady’s crown. “Now, Flora, the tincture I gave you will act to bring your nature under governance, but there is another act we must complete before it can be expected to have its full effect. This act may at first seem distasteful, even unpleasant, to such a nicely brought up girl as yourself, but I assure you those reservations will soon desert you as your nature wins out and you will find the act more to your liking. In any event I must see it through in order to ensure that you may safely leave the building, and none shall harass or besiege you.”

Flora nodded, still partly-reclined on the bed. She did not fully understand what Miss Robinson meant, but she grasped that everything which was to follow would be correct and right and good, so it would surely be wrong of her to contradict any of it in any way. That much she understood quite well, and as to any more trifling details, she was prepared to muddle through. Certainly Miss Robinson would guide her, and all would be as it should.

“Spread your legs now, Flora,” said Miss Robinson, and Flora did as she was told. Her drawers gaped wider in the middle, and a soft draught of air brushed over her most private parts. It could not have been a very cold draught, for the Blands made proper use of their budget for coal and ensured all sleeping quarters were adequately heated within the physical limitations of the building itself, but to Flora, who was still feeling most unaccountably warm, it felt quite chilly indeed and she gasped.

“Shh-hh,” Miss Robinson soothed. And then, to Flora’s great wonder, Miss Robinson _touched_ her. In a way she had never been touched before. Not with the shield of a glove, or even her naked hand, but with something warm and wet. Flora thought she might actually be using her _tongue_! Not only that, but she applied her tongue to Flora’s most private and intimate place, the place she had previously examined, where some of her year-mates whispered a boy might touch you if he thought he’d like to know you better. Flora surged up in a frenzy of confusion and concern but Miss Robinson frowned at her very sternly from where she knelt, like a lady at prayer, at the side of the bed between the spread-apart knees of Flora.

“Lie _down_ , my girl,” she said firmly, and to Flora’s great surprise it was very difficult to think of any reason she should not. Mute and meek, she fell back fully onto the bed, still clutching her skirts close.

“Miss . . . Ma’am . . . please. Am I _very_ ill?”

“You are only as you should be, dear,” said Miss Robinson. “And if you do as you are told, all will soon be well. It is only that I must indulge myself a little in taking your scent and flavour, or I will not be able to bring myself to the state required for our union. I drink my own tincture daily so that I may mingle freely among my kind and not lose my head, but the consequence of this is that I require a little more _stimulation_ than nature would otherwise deem necessary to bring me to a properly prepared condition.”

So saying, she returned her tongue to its task, laving Flora most gently and so sweetly all up and down the part of her body where the heat and dampness were greatest, and Flora soon began to feel once again quite light and far away, floating high and lovely, as if on a quite distant cloud.

Then Miss Robinson said, “All right now, Flora, I think you are quite nearly ready. That means it is your turn to ready me. Come down off the bed, child, and kneel beside it as I have done. I will take your place and explain what you must do next.”

So Flora, who had come to find the ministrations of Miss Robinson only grew more pleasant as they went on, was only too happy to make an appropriate expression of her gratitude and do exactly as she was told.

~*~

It was quite incredible. That a child of this age, a girl very nearly grown into full womanhood, had absolutely no concept of what she was made for, nor what was about to befall her. With mounting wonder, Irene Robinson watched Flora slip off the bed to kneel complacently beside it, a trifle flushed now that she’d learned to like having her little cunny licked, and clearly ready to do anything that was asked of her if only out of gratitude for having been so gently indoctrinated to the verge of pleasure.

With faintly trembling hands Irene adjusted the buttoned fold set in the front of her walking dress, and drew her hardened cockstand forth.

To even an experienced eye it would have been impressive; Irene had always been given to understand she was large above the average, and the enormity of her cock had caused even some of her more experienced partners visible consternation at the sight. To little Flora the cock must have seemed a truly impossible thing. The girl stared at it in simple wonder, as she might have done an exotic animal in a zoo, and then, as if on impulse, put one slim hand out to touch the tip.

She jerked back in surprise as it twitched at the contact.

“Oh!” she said, and looked to Irene for guidance.

“My dear,” said Irene, very low in her throat, “it will not harm you. No more than it has harmed any other. You may touch it again, if you like, or if you wish to make me truly happy, you may give it a little kiss.”

It was clear Flora longed to make Irene happy, but it was equally plain she did not wish to put her mouth on Irene’s cock. Irene, with a reserve borne of instinct more than true patience, sensing that she could more completely have her way of the girl if she did not startle her so soon out of the gate, mustered every last shred of her self control and let the child approach her in her own time. Sure enough, with devastating hesitation, Flora leaned timidly forward, pressed her soft, full lips to the tip of Irene’s cock, and gave it a kiss.

“Darling girl,” breathed Irene, stroking the soft auburn hair. “You do that very well. Again, if you please. Just like that.”

So Flora screwed up her face but again applied her lips to Irene’s cock, and then, at a murmured suggestion, licked it too. The dainty pink tongue lapped up the side, warm and wet on Irene’s flesh, and she could not contain a low groan. Fortunately Flora was not too badly startled by this, and after nervously flicking her gaze up to Irene’s face—dear god those beautiful, impossible eyes—continued to lick until instructed otherwise.

“Take it into your mouth now, there’s a good girl,” Irene encouraged. “Suckle it just as you would a sweet.”

Flora, eyes glazing over, parted her lips in obedience to this expression of desire and Irene, with a low sigh, slipped her cock into the next-nearest thing to paradise. She gave the child a moment or two to practise herself on the width of it, and then, unable to bear the wait any longer, started to thrust.

“Relax, now,” she encouraged her. “Open your mouth as wide as you can. You will find it is not too difficult a thing, if you can manage that.”

The girl was not much able to apply herself to this task, but she took her facefucking with good grace and no complaint. Her eyes watered and she made a few soft noises of discomfort, but Irene gave her no real reason to retreat or withdraw, gentling her with pats on the head, playing with her hair and caressing her chin and cheeks with her fingertips to show approval.

Girls of Flora’s type responded well to petting. The higher-born ones could tolerate a slap as well as a caress, and some even seemed to enjoy the novelty of pain, but the ones of this age and station were more likely to submit to the rough stuff at the end if you’d plied them properly with sweetness at the outset.

“What a good girl,” Irene sighed, rocking her hips forward, stopping just short of making the girl actually gag. “Just as you are doing now, Flora, that is exactly as you should . . .”

Flora responded beautifully to the praise, even dropping her jaw a little further to take more of Irene into her mouth. Not that Irene had the faintest hope of filling it completely; she could choke the child off at the throat and still not be more than two thirds lost in the pretty little mouth. But that was all right; it was not her mouth she planned to content herself with, after all.

“There, now,” she decided, withdrawing at last with freshly-wetted cock, and admiring the deeper red flush in the girl’s cheeks. “I will own you look even prettier than you did when I arrived. A girl always looks so well with a cock in her mouth, and you took that very bravely indeed. I think you will like the next part, too.”

She took her time with the arrangements that followed, directing the girl onto her stomach on the bed, and then, determining that it was too low for her to stand beside and accomplish her task, bade Flora to rise up on all fours, which put her most desirable parts more at the proper height for their union.

Flora followed orders beautifully, too. Irene was no longer surprised at this, but she did derive much pleasure from the fact. True, Flora did not always immediately understand what was asked of her, which Irene ascribed to a combination of her inexperience and current glandular ailment, but when guided into place with a light touch she was quick to comply. At last Irene had her positioned facing inward on the bed, knees balanced on the edge, petticoat and skirt rucked up over her backside, baring her soft, pale, round buttocks for inspection.

Irene stroked gently at the heat-plumped lips which peeked out from between the girl’s thighs, a rich pink target of slick and framing curls, then advanced her cock impatiently to the entrance, wetting it as thoroughly as she could in Flora’s own slick. Flora pushed back instinctively, and it was all Irene could do not to plunge into her with one greedy, devouring thrust.

“Do be patient, dear girl,” she entreated, reaching down to find the burgeoning swell of Flora’s little pearl, and giving it a rub of promise. “You shall have everything you desire soon enough, you have my word. But we must proceed with some care. I would not hurt you more than I already must if I can possibly help it. So be very good and still for me, and I shall do what I can to make this easier.”

Flora fell still and uncomplaining, permitting that her softest flesh should be probed and tested by the great, splitting head of Irene’s cock. Irene, for her part, got herself well under control and advanced her cockhead with careful deliberation, pressing between the soft flesh until the child squirmed and whimpered, and all that with barely the foremost part of Irene’s cock pressed within her.

“This will be a snug fit, Flora,” she warned, and reached down to press and massage the little pearl until she judged that Flora was suitably distracted by the advent of pleasure, and thrust in.

Poor Flora! There was no hope for it, really, given the diminutive size of her entrance, her passage, and the overwhelming girth of Irene’s cock. It was only lucky there was a pillow so close to hand, for it gave a handy means with which to cover Flora’s face and effectively smother all shrieks of protest and similar sounds.

“Now, now, dear,” Irene panted, scoldingly, getting a firm grip on the girl’s hips and thrusting deeper still. “This will not do. You must learn to take it nicely; I cannot have you carrying on this way.”

“It _hurts_ ,” poor Flora cried, but her complaint was largely muffled by the pillow, so none save Irene could hear.

“Yes, I know, but that part will only bother you for a little bit. Here, I have a very nice treat I can give you, and you will like it much better then.”

So saying, on her next thrust forward, as she attempted to improve her cock’s claim on the untried little cunt, Irene reached down again to stroke Flora’s pearl to greater prominence. She could not apply her focus to it as steadily as she would have if she’d been able to hold still, but for a girl like Flora, who had for so long been sternly enjoined not to touch herself below the waist in any meaningful way, the contact had an electrifying effect.

“Oh,” she gasped, and turned her head as if trying to better see what could possibly be happening below the waist. “Oh . . . _oh_!”

And very obliging girl that she was, Flora came on Irene’s cock before it was more than halfway inside her. The answering rush of slick and arousal sped Irene’s own penetration, and before Flora could remember how uncomfortable she really was, Irene had gained considerable ground.

“Good girl,” she soothed, seeing the discomfort register belatedly on Flora’s face. “There’s a very good girl. If you would just work with me a little better, you will see I can make it very nice for you. Can you push back against me? Yes! Oh yes, Flora, _exactly_ like that.”

Flora grimaced, a look of fierce concentration overtaking her features, and rocked back again to meet Irene’s aggressive thrust. Whatever disarrangement her cunt suffered at the advancement of the cock, it could not be denied that she bore it well and strove to match her own rocking, steady rhythm to Irene’s. The softness of her flesh and the willing obedience of her body worked a very rapid effect on Irene in turn, and before she knew it the bulb of her knot had begun to swell.

“Oh my dear,” she sighed, smoothing a regretful palm over one soft, lush globe of the girl’s buttock, “you _have_ done well. I should like to give you another little present, if I might, because what is coming next will be much nicer if you are distracted from it.”

If Flora suffered any apprehension at this prediction she did not show it. Her features were adorably screwed up with the strength of her focus and concentration, and did not soften or slack until Irene had worked very aggressively on the little bud at the top of her sex. Only then did the lower lip droop, soft and full, and her bright clear eyes began to cloud out of focus once more.

“Yes, Florry, there’s a little pet,” Irene soothed. “Just let it come over you now. You will feel so fine and lovely, and you will not mind quite so much . . .”

As the first paroxysms seized Flora’s cunt, Irene thrust forward and pressed her knot against the full, slick lips. On the second such thrust she was in, and even though Flora’s discomfort surfaced through the pleasure of her orgasm it was very little work for Irene to stroke her to the peak of another, so that as her knot swelled within, massaged by the rhythmic contractions of the girl’s cunt, Flora herself was too muddled with pleasure to even notice the sensation of lingering pain—or at least, if she did notice, to imagine she could mind.

“Unngh,” she grunted at the next, experimental thrust. Irene smiled and patted the girl’s flank in an absent, approving way.

“You have done very well, Flora,” she said warmly. “Very well indeed. You have taken it all so bravely, and with little complaint. There is but one act left, and I think you will find it requires little sacrifice of you at all. Only hold on, if you can, and I will do the rest.”

Flora scrabbled, blindly obedient, to seek purchase on the edge of the iron bedframe. Irene gave her no further warning but completed the act of their union with a series of rude, short thrusts which ballooned her knot to completion inside the child and brought Irene to her own orgasm.

Flora cried out, of course, for the discomfort from the swell of the knot was considerable, but Irene was already collapsing forward on top of her, and brought a hand up over her mouth to cut off any further sound of protest.

“Shh, shh,” she grunted, cock still surging and spurting within. “None of that, please, there’s no point in it anymore.” Then she caught Flora’s chin in her hand and turned her face to the side. She kissed the girl’s lips quite gently, then reached down to stroke her again, distracting her with pleasure from the memory that she had been about to beg once again to stop.

~*~

Flora writhed in a miasma of heat and pain and pleasure. She could not work out where one sensation ended and the next began. It seemed that she must be smothered under the confusion of it all, or perhaps that was simply the volume of Miss Robinson’s fine blue-grey skirts. A very painful tightness, a swelling of impossible size, stood out inside a part of Flora she had not really even known was there. She thought the thing must surely reach all the way up into her throat, only it entered her from below this time, rather than when she had taken it so awkwardly in her mouth in order to make Miss Robinson smile.

Even now, so wrung out and stretched tight and thoroughly used, Flora longed to make Miss Robinson smile.

Miss Robinson might _be_ smiling, but Flora could not really see. The lady had curled up against her from behind, the great and terrible hardness still filling every part of Flora she had to be filled, and reached down to stroke that place at the very front of her that made her feel so good.

“You have been a very good girl, Florry,” she said. “I should like to give you another little treat as a present, for taking it all as you should. Would you like that?”

“Oh,” said Flora earnestly, “yes, please, Miss! I should like it very much.”

“That’s my good girl,” said Miss Robinson, and began to stroke again. Her fingers pinched a little, almost cruelly, but somehow even that felt good, and Flora convulsed on the cruelly swollen hardness inside her. She cried softly but did not cry out, and that seemed to please Miss Robinson very much for she made her do it again: have the special lovely feeling so that tears streamed down Flora’s cheeks and she could not have stopped the waves of pleasure crashing through her lower half even if she had wanted to.

“Where are my good girl’s pretty manners?” Miss Robinson prompted, so Flora understood what was expected of her and frantically burbled her thanks.

“Thank you, Miss, it’s very kind, thank you, I _do_ like that, just as you said, but oh, Miss,” as the pinching resumed, “not again, please, not another, I couldn’t bear—”

But the pleasure was forced on her one more time, so that she sobbed and wept and wailed, and still remembered her training clearly enough to echo her thanks as soon as she had breath enough back to do so.

“Thank you,” she wept. “Thank you, Miss, ever so much. Oh, Miss, it _does_ hurt, could you maybe please—”

“Not yet, Flora,” said Miss Robinson gently. “You must accept me a little longer still. I will take it out when I am ready, but it’s not quite time, yet.” She stroked Flora’s hair now, smoothing it at the browline and pressing to her temple one soft, fond kiss. “It will come to pass, though, dear, I promise. You must only be patient a little longer and I will be done with you by and by.”

And Flora, her much abused little cunt and inexperienced body overpleasured, overfull, burdened beyond its every capacity to bear, hiccuped wetly just once, and knew she had to be content with that.

~*~

It took Miss Robinson the better part of an hour to emerge from the room with Flora in her care, but when they sallied forth the change in the girl was marked by all. No longer so foggy of countenance, Flora seemed almost herself again. She was able to answer, shyly, the enquiries after her wellbeing, and assured all who spoke to her that Miss Robinson had been a very great help to her indeed.

Miss Robinson, for her part, assured the Blands and Mr. Hastings she sought no reward at all save the knowledge her task was correctly accomplished and—she neatened the girl’s pinafore around the shoulders a little—the privilege of serving as escort to Flora as she travelled north to the school which was to be her new home.

“They have a fine reputation,” she noted, “though I do say so myself. I am after a small way of being their patroness, you see; that is, I consult with them on medical matters, and sometimes treat one or two of the girls privately myself.” She rested a fond hand on the modestly bowed head of her latest patient and favoured Flora with an especially warm and gentle smile. “Would you like for me to take you there, dear girl? And to visit you from time to time, when you are in a proper condition to receive me?”

Flora, quite bashfully but most affectingly, assured the good lady that she would.

“Well then!” cried Mr. Hastings. “Why not consider it settled? If indeed Miss Robinson will consent to serve as escort, I see nothing against giving her permission. It’s a long journey, is it?”

“To be sure,” said Miss Robinson gravely. “More than a day’s travel, I am afraid. However we would travel by train, at my expense, and I can assure Flora of my most devoted and undivided attention for the duration of the journey.”

“Oh, I say, how very kind,” said Mr. Bland.

“Not at all,” said Miss Robinson. She turned her smile on Flora again, who cast her eyes down bashfully as a becoming blush coloured her soft, full cheeks. “I find her a most charming girl, and I think we will do very well together.”

So it was agreed that this would be quite the best thing for all concerned, and Flora was permitted to make a supervised farewell to her companions from the orphanage before donning her little shawl and bonnet and accompanying Miss Robinson down to Mr. Hastings’s waiting carriage, which he had declared they must borrow to travel to the station. He himself, he assured him, would procure a hansom for the journey home, the better to ensure their comfort.

“Such generosity,” said Miss Robinson. “Make your thanks to Mr. Hastings, Flora.” Flora, eyes still downcast, did as she was told. Then she followed Miss Robinson up into the carriage and seated herself demurely at that lady’s side until the vehicle lurched into motion, and they were on their way at last.

“Now then,” said Miss Robinson, with a smile. “Can you quite manage to look at me yet, Flora? I do so love it when you try.”

Flora tried, obliging as ever, and the luminous hazel gaze flickered briefly up to Miss Robinson’s face before dropping modestly to her knees once more.

“Very well,” said Miss Robinson, “I think you’re ready for another go.” And she instructed Flora to kneel on the floor, facing the front of the carriage, which Flora did with all speed.

“Over you go, my dear,” said Miss Robinson, and Flora obligingly leaned forward to rest herself on the facing seat, presenting her bottom for Miss Robinson to bare and fondly caress. Then, after a moment’s further thought, Miss Robinson enjoined her to turn around once more and freed her cock for the girl to kiss and minister to, in the manner she had so recently learned.

“Traffic is grindingly slow at this time of day,” she mused, “but no matter. It should give us ample time to effect the entire procedure once more. Truly, I can think of no more agreeable way to pass the time until we reach the station. Can you?”

Whether Flora could, or Flora could not, she was not in a position to say.

Her mouth was full.


End file.
